


Puzzle Pieces

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Het, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 05:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/487186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House loves puzzles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Puzzle Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own House or Cameron. If I did, the show would be far more raunchy, and be airing on HBO.  
> Beta: Hugs, kisses, and cyber-groping to my beta, katakombs.  
> Author’s Notes: Spoilery for S2.

He loved puzzles.

Rubik’s cube? He’d solved that one within the first fifteen minutes of purchasing it. Yawn. Sudoku? _Double yawn._ Been there, done that.

The people around him, too, could sometimes serve as challenging puzzles. It might take awhile, but he always managed to figure them out. Cuddy? An administrator pretending to be a doctor. Chase? A slacker who was just practicing medicine out of some silly desire to prove he was as good as (if not better than) Daddy. When he wasn’t doing it to please him, that was. Foreman was trying to prove that even with a somewhat shady background, one could still go straight. Wilson _loved_ everybody (even snarky crippled bastards that borrowed money endlessly, and made him pay for their lunches every chance they got), and thus had a lot of trouble keeping it in his pants.

They were solved. _Known_. 

But some people, like some puzzles, were harder to solve than others. He could see one such ‘puzzle’ in the Diagnostic conference room, right now, in fact. Diligently making the day’s first batch of coffee. 

Cameron.

Early on, he’d pegged her as having a sort of ‘puppy-love’ crush on him, one that would eventually fade as his insults and (supposed) indifference piled up. He’d figured she was _soft_ , that she’d never stand up to him, or indeed anyone else. _Puzzle solved_ , he’d thought.

But no, then Vogler had threatened them all, and she’d quit. Left. Puzzle _not_ solved.  In fact, it had gotten more complicated. Not to mention that his own reaction to her leaving had surprised him. But he didn’t care, right? Anyway, it was best not to dwell on _that_ particular puzzle.

When Vogler had fallen, House had gone to get her back. _Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,_ he’d justified it. And it was less work than interviewing.

She’d surprised him again, forcing him to agree to go out on a date with her. Puzzle definitely not solved.

By the time the actual date had rolled around, though, he’d solved the puzzle again. She needed to be needed. She needed a man she could ‘fix’. That’s why she’d married a dying man, that’s why she’d been pursuing him so ardently. She hadn’t contested anything he’d said, when he’d explained these things to her, just watched him in silence. _Puzzle solved_ , he’d told himself firmly. _Definitely._

Then Stacy had shown up, and everything had gone to Hell. He’d solved the puzzle of Allison Cameron, but now he had the even more annoying puzzle of Stacy Warner. Did she still have feelings for him? Would she leave her husband for him? More importantly, was that even what he wanted?

But he’d solved that one, too, in the end. Actually, it had been easy. Too easy. She did indeed have feelings for him, was willing to leave Mark for him…but she’d also been in love with something that didn’t exist. She wanted a House that would put her first, above _everything_ else. Including patients. And he couldn’t do that. He was crippled, he was scarred, and medicine was the only thing he was really good at. Better at than everyone else. _Nothing_ came before that.

So she’d left. And the puzzle had been solved once again. 

Except, he knew that he still hadn’t solved the puzzle of Allison Cameron. Not really. Because she’d surprised him a few times. Like when she’d tricked the Munchausen’s patient into taking antibiotics that would turn her urine orange. She’d lied—a huge surprise, coming from her. She was getting sharper, picking up on cues as subtle as the ones he normally honed in on. Leaving her fellow fellows in the dust. It surprised him, since he’d never really expected it from her. She was starting to challenge him at his own game. Interesting.

It was a piece that didn’t fit.

Time went on, and suddenly other pieces didn’t fit, either. Her getting scared and taking the meth, that wasn’t one of the bad ‘pieces’. She’d been scared, she’d been trying to ‘live’ a little - that was nothing. He knew what that was like. 

But then she’d slept with Chase. She didn’t even _like_ him, as far as House had seen. He knew Chase liked her - yet another part of Chase’s puzzle, one that House had figured out long ago - but Cameron hadn’t wanted him. But she’d called on Chase that night, had slept with _him_ , of all people.

And that wasn’t all. That wasn’t even the largest puzzle piece that was lying there, taunting him with the fact that he couldn’t figure out where it fit into the overall picture.

It had started right after he’d insisted on giving her the HIV test (negative, by the way) himself. She’d gotten...distant. She didn’t speak to him unless he spoke to her, and even then, only about the case. When he insulted her, she’d just get the ghost of a smile on her face, and say nothing. _Do_ nothing. Even when he did his best to push her buttons - flirting, sexually harassing her, making sexist remarks - she never did much more than smile faintly, and then busy herself with something else.

He couldn’t figure it out. She didn’t seem angry at him, or sad, or insulted, and she was still single, according to the hospital grapevine, so it wasn’t a lover that was the cause of her sudden immunity to him.

He couldn’t get her to talk, either. His personal questions were met by the same smile, the same neutral glance.

She still did the same kinds of things she always had – she made coffee, ran tests, participated in the diagnostic sessions. Answered his mail. Stayed late to do paperwork. The usual ‘stuffed animal made by grandma’ things. And yet, things were different. She wasn’t all _there_ , she wasn’t responding to him. Not the way he was used to.

Not the way he wanted her to.

The puzzle of this started to fill every spare moment of his life. Much like the puzzle of Stacy had done, while she’d still been in proximity. But he was stymied, this time. There were no therapy notes he could photocopy. No people he could grill - Chase, Foreman, Wilson - who would know anything. Not without making himself seem too _interested_ in the puzzle.

He couldn’t visit her at home, he told himself. The last time he’d done that, she’d gotten that date out of him. He knew that showing up at her place back then, and so frequently (twice), had shown his own hand. He couldn’t risk that again.

But there it was, teasing him. Taunting him. The one puzzle that he couldn’t solve. The pieces just lying there, mocking him. He twirled his cane and tried to fit them together. Nope. He tossed his oversized ball from hand-to-hand, and tried to imagine other shapes for the pieces. Nada. He worked at solving a patient puzzle, solved it within a day or two (everybody lies) and then his mind went dutifully back to the Cameron puzzle.

Soon, the teasing turned to _grating_. He couldn’t make the pieces fit, and her reaction - lack of reaction - was maddening. He kept trying, kept pushing, kept making attempts to trigger her buttons, to get the reactions he’d gotten before. He made remarks about her looks, about her pathetic sincerity, about her need to ‘adopt’ dying patients. Nothing. She’d just smile in that increasingly annoying way, and go about her business.

Eventually, he just watched her. He couldn’t get her to talk, so maybe her behaviour would tell him something new. But it didn’t. Or rather, not in a way that helped solve anything. In fact, it made things worse. He noticed things about her that he didn’t want to. How soft and pale her skin was. How good she looked in red. How well that new hair-style suited her. Those nice womanly curves. Things he didn’t _want_ to notice. Things that made him wonder what she might feel like, underneath him.

Things that made him think that if talking wasn’t going to solve things, and if observing wasn’t going to solve things, maybe there were _other_ ways to get a reaction out of her.

Until finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He didn’t care how far he’d have to go, or what he’d have to do. He would _make_ her respond to him. 

 

*~*~*

He’d told himself that he’d never ever go back to her apartment. But now he had no choice. He wasn’t going to push her last few buttons - not in this way - at work. Too dangerous. After practically stalking her for the last week, he’d learned that there was nowhere else. She only went to four places in her life - her home, PPTH, the grocery store, and a local bar. He wasn’t keen on shocking random patrons in the fruit aisles, and she never went to the bar without Chase or Foreman, so that was obviously out. Thinking of the look on Foreman’s face, alone, was off-putting enough.

He rode over in the dark, on his bike. She’d liked riding the bike with him, a few weeks back. She hadn’t told him, but he knew. He intended to capitalize on that - chicks dug motorcycles. And those that rode them. Maybe she even had a secret leather fetish, something else he could capitalize on. 

He rapped sharply with his cane on her door. 

Shortly afterward, she opened it. But her expression was the same as it had been in the last little while. The faint smile. The almost nonchalant look. “House,” she said. Only that. And only faint surprise in her voice.

He was going to solve this puzzle. He was going to do it, even if he had to _bend_ the tabs to make the pieces fit.

“I’m coming in.” He said, glaring at her. Surely _this_ – him at her door, announcing he was going to actually come in, this time – would get a reaction?

But he got nothing but those neutral eyes, that faint smile. Like he did this all the time. Like this wasn’t a significant change in their ‘relationship’. It was maddening. It was frustrating.

He used that anger, that frustration, to make himself invade her space. To breach the boundary of her apartment door, something he’d never done before. It made him even angrier, now, to think that Chase had done it first.

Cameron moved back as he pushed his way in, cane thumping loudly on the floor. He watched her face intently as he shoved in and she stepped back, as he slammed the door behind him. _There_ , he’d seen a flicker of something in her face. Too fast for him to identify what it was. 

He needed to gather more ‘data’.

Pushing forward, deeper and deeper into her space, and she kept falling back as he moved forward, her gaze somehow still neutral. Still saying nothing. He’d _make_ her talk, he promised himself.

When she’d backed up against her living room couch and could go no further, he advanced even quicker, ignoring the throb of protest in his leg. He limped forward until he was standing right in front of her. Then he reached out and pushed her, off-balancing her so that she had no choice but to sit on the couch. 

He waited for a protest, but it never came. Waited for a nervous question, but he didn’t get that, either. She was just sitting there, calm, waiting. With that same damned _smile_. He’d wipe that off her face.

House didn’t stop to consider what he was doing - just like when he was trying to solve a medical case, the puzzle was _all_ , and he’d push as far as he had to, break every rule if he had to, to solve it - just let his cane topple loudly to the floor and then pushed at her shoulders, getting her onto her back on the couch. He followed that up by lowering himself awkwardly down on top of her, lying over her, his weight pressing her down into the soft cushioning.

Cameron still wasn’t fighting him, wasn’t questioning him, wasn’t trying to get away from him. Even though he wanted her to. Or to at least say something, give him _some_ reaction. Despite her lack of struggle, he wrapped his hands around her wrists anyway, pinning her arms down by her sides as he moved to kiss her. No resistance from her as his lips pressured hers apart, as his tongue pushed in. 

He took his time, prolonging his explorations, pushing to finally get some kind of response out of her. But, except for perhaps slightly heavier breathing, her chest fighting against the press of his weight, she was still giving him nothing. 

Time to up the ante, then. Breaking the kiss, he let his chin rasp down across her neck. There, he’d gotten something. A quiet gasp. It was a start, he decided. Still pinning her down, he licked slow, deliberate lines along her throat, searching for more reactions from her. A few indrawn gasps, a few delicious tremours from the slender body trapped underneath his weight. _Good._

He was getting hot and bothered, and it was distracting, so he released her wrists only long enough to lean up a bit and shrug his riding jacket off and onto the floor beside them. He was glad he’d only worn a tee shirt underneath it, this time - less layers to worry about. But he’d focus on that in a moment, as right now he wanted to continue his ‘data collection’, wanted to see if he could get even more out of Dr. Allison Cameron.

Pinning her wrists again, this time above her head and with one hand, he used the other to pull her shirt out of her jeans, shoving the fabric out of his way until it was around her upper chest. A quick yank and her bra was similarly displaced, and he paused to run a callused palm delicately across a nipple.

Another tiny gasp from her. Nice, but not much different from the reactions he’d already won from her. He leaned to her breast, taking the hardened tip into his mouth, playing around it with his tongue.

He was rewarded with squirming, but that was the only new reaction. No louder noises. No loud gasps or moans, no begging or pleading or - even better - his name. Even when he turned his attention to her other breast, even when he alternated hard sucking with sharp nips. Nothing but more of those sharp intakes of breath. He glanced up, and saw that her eyes were shut tight, lips pressed together. Her jaw was subtly moving, her throat muscles shifting as she swallowed convulsively, but she was obviously fighting to stay as quiet as possible.

He was going to _make_ the puzzle pieces fit. That was what he had come here for. So he sat back on the couch, starting to remove her jeans from her body. When those were tossed away, her panties were next, and then he grasped her knees and drew her towards him across the couch, until his target was practically in his lap.

As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t taste her. Yeah, the first HIV test, the one he had foisted on her, had been negative, but it was only the first of three. Chase might be stupid enough to take such a risk, but _he_ wasn’t. But he’d checked his hands out thoroughly for cuts before coming out here, had made sure there were no sharp corners on his nails. So now he pushed a finger inside her, watching her.

She gasped a little louder this time, even arched her back and pushed herself against his hand, her own hands balled into fists at her sides. But he didn’t need that confirmation - the wetness between her legs, coating his finger, the way her muscles clutched at him - her body was already telling him what he’d wanted to know. 

A predatory grin spread across his face as he added a second finger to the first, moving them slowly in and out of her. He let his gaze alternate between her face - eyes still closed, but her mouth starting to tremble now with the effort to keep quiet - and her glistening wet flesh, swelling and pulsing around his fingers.

He moved a little faster and harder inside her, reveling in his victory as she started to gasp and groan in time with his thrusts. Giving in to an evil urge, after some long moments of this, he stilled his hand. His grin became positively diabolical when, eyes still squeezed shut, Cameron groaned pitifully and clutched at his hand with one of hers, trying to urge him to continue. “Please,” she finally whispered.

He was on the verge of figuring this puzzle out. He let his fingers start to move inside her again, let the ball of his thumb locate her stiff little clit and tease it. She wasn’t quiet at all, now. She was gasping and writhing, eyes squeezed shut and head thrown back. 

He could taste victory. The solution was within his grasp (pun not intended).

She gave in before long, the loudest groan of all escaping her lips, her insides still clutching at him. But she didn’t need to hold him there, he had no intention of leaving. Not when he was so _close_ to his answer.

She had tested negative for HIV, but there were still a few more such tests to go, so before he could forget and pop his fingers into his mouth, he got up and limped off to see if he could find a bathroom. Luckily, it didn’t take too long to find – her apartment was much smaller than his place, after all. He washed his hands, and quickly plotted his next move.

On his way back, he left an untidy trail of fabric. One step, and his tee shirt was on the floor. A couple more steps and a pause, and his jeans were off. He dug in the back pocket for a condom. He’d grabbed a couple as soon as he’d decided he was coming over here. Hey, he’d been a Boy Scout in his youth, he knew the drill.

He dropped the jeans unceremoniously on the floor, and a few steps later, his black boxer-briefs joined them. Back in the living room area by now, he noted Cameron was right where he’d left her. Good. He wasn’t exactly equipped to chase her around the room. 

She still had her shirt and bra tangled around her upper chest, so after lowering himself down onto the couch, he set about removing those, and then rolled the condom onto himself. He’d gotten a response out of her, finally, but it hadn’t been enough. He wanted more. He was an addict for a _reason_. Always pushing the envelope, always wanting more. Wanting the answer. Wanting the reaction. Wanting the most sensation he could get from the experience, whatever it was.

He maneuvered himself between her thighs and back on top of her. This was going to be a challenge, but he wanted her underneath him still. Call it chauvinistic, call it macho, call it whatever. He didn’t give a fuck. He ignored the annoyed throbbing from his thigh. Fuck that, too.

He paused, just as he was about to slide into her. Looking into her face. Still promising himself that he was going to _make_ her respond. That he was going to make it impossible for her to ignore him any more. The puzzle would then be solved, he knew.

She was looking up into his eyes, softer blue than his own, and he knew he had her. He got inside her, then, pushing, thrusting. Using the pleasure of being (finally) inside her, to combat the pain of his leg.

It didn’t take long. But their eyes stayed locked, both of them gasping now, as they approached the cliff’s edge together. Coming together and apart, together and apart, until there was nowhere else for them to go but over the edge. She said his name - “House” - low and growling, her back arching as she gave in underneath him, and he couldn’t stop himself, saying her name back at her as he let go, himself. 

He collapsed onto her, his weight flattening her into the couch. He let his head rest on her flesh, soft and hot underneath his rough cheek. Her fingers were in his hair, stroking through the damp strands, but he didn’t mind. Didn’t feel the need to make a snide remark, for once.

He just lay there, enjoying it while he could. Though he’d never tell _Cameron_ that. 

His leg was starting to clamour louder, but he’d go grab a Vicodin in a minute. For now, he was content. The puzzle was solved. The problem had been _treated_.

Of course, it was really his _own_ puzzle that he’d been trying to solve, not hers.

But he’d known that all along.

 


End file.
